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In the dimness, in the back right corner where they had put that rather ambitious potted tree, the Rider stood with his bare-backed steed beside him. Quietly and pensively; gently stroking the nose of the horse, he listened and watched. Blending into the shadows where they stood, the two were definitely out of place in the large church. By the business-like expression of their forms it was apparent, though not observable, that they were on a mission of some kind. Pastor was ringing out his sermon, having finished with song and announcements.
Unheard by the congregation, the Rider spoke to his equine companion; “Red, it looks like the intelligence is true. The Gospel is being misconstrued here.” Head bobbing up and down, Red answered with a breathy, “bwhrrrr.” The Rider spoke again, heard only by the red horse, “ It will be up to the Master to make corrections when we report back to Him.” “You know, Red,” continued the Rider, “ our Master is kind to allow us to watch Him as He works His wonders in the affairs of men. After we make our reports, He knows we want to know how it turns out.” The Rider wasn’t usually so talkative and Red was enjoying the unfamiliar conversation. He affectionately pushed his head against his Rider’s arm. Reciprocating the act with a gentle pat on Red’s nose, the Rider spoke again; “Red, sometimes I hear my Master being misrepresented and I want to come to His defense, but you and I both must be bridled at all times. His way is perfect. Our way is to be servants to Him.” Turning to the horse, the Rider was readying to mount his steed when the congregation began to exit the building.
Politely waiting for the moving crowd to finish their egress, the horse and still dismounted Rider backed into the shadow of the potted tree, shoulder to shoulder, watching and listening. Coming through the roar of hundreds of voices, snatches of conversation reached their ears. Lunch seemed to be topic number one at the moment; mixed with friendly greetings to one another. Regardless of the twisted Gospel message, love was the tie that bound this large body together. That would be added to the report.
Laughing with the glad abandon shared by teen-agers, red-haired Glenda and blond Glory neared the door of the church together. Waiting their turn to shake hands with Pastor, they chattered about their very important nothings. “ I really mean it, Glory,” said Glenda, “You need to go on that site. It’ll be okay with your Mom, I promise,” then, noticing her inattention, “Glory, what is wrong with you?” Met by Glory’s silence, Glenda insisted, “Glory,” now shaking her arm, “what’s wrong?” Glory turned to her friend with the amazed look Glenda saw there often. Finally, she spoke. “Glenda, I swear I just saw a horse over by the tree out of the corner of my eye. When I turned to really look, it wasn’t there.” “Glory, how can you see what’s outside when we can’t even see out of the door?” asked Glenda. “No, Glenda, by the tree in the pot in that corner,” speaking as she pointed right at Red and the Rider. Glenda, looking at the end of Glory’s finger, made a huff of exasperation as she snapped back to her friend, “ I swear Glory, I wish you’d quit tellin’ me the things you see out of the corner of your eye. One day somebody’s gonna hear you and start spreadin’ stories about you bein’ nuts.” The Rider nodded with a small smile. If she could discern him and his horse, she could tell the difference between truth and untruth. The Master would hear her name in their report.
Based loosely on Zechariah 1:8-10
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